Harry Potter and the Rise of War
by Rubberduckie713
Summary: Sixth year canon. The war is approaching, and Harry's life is spinning out of control. When Hermione and Ron discover a shocking secret about his past, will they have the courage to tell him?
1. Praying for Daylight

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, then it's not mine. I am not, have not, and do not plan on making money on this story.  
  
Summary: With his sixth year of Hogwarts rapidly approaching, Harry has more on his mind than homework. After his godfather's death, he becomes depressed but determined. When Hermione and Ron discover a shocking secret about his past, what will happen to our tragic hero's already emotionally hazardous life?  
  
Warnings: Umm...will eventually be a spin on Severitus, though I don't think it will match all the criteria. Mild language and violence. PG for now.  
  
A/N: So, for those of you who may recognize my user name and wonder why I'm writing this when it's been SO long since I've updated 'Suffering', all I can say is I hit a roadblock, and then this little idea popped into my head. I plan for this piece to have more of a plot than 'Suffering"...I would like to completely rewrite that one. It will be finished, but there's a good chance I will rewrite it first. Thanks for your patience ( Anyway, I'm trying to decide if this is a story I should run with—its Severitus (ish) but it's got a side to it that I don't think has been used before. Reviews are welcome, be they good, bad, or ugly.  
  
xXxXxXxXxXxXx  
  
Harry Potter and the Rise of War  
  
Chapter One: Praying for Daylight  
  
xXxXxXxXxXxXx  
  
Remus Lupin watched the retreating backs of the Dursley family with something akin to satisfaction. Behind him, Tonks asked interestedly, "So who was it that told Dumbledore we should do this?"  
  
He turned around and eyed her pink hair appreciatively. "You know, I think Petunia Dursley was more frightened of you and your hair than she was of anyone else."  
  
"Really?" The young Auror looked amused. "And I was thinking it would take green skin and a wart-covered nose to scare them."  
  
Remus, who was familiar enough with Muggle culture to catch the reference, chuckled slightly. Alastor Moody looked at the pair of them as if they were insane. Arthur Weasley, Muggle fanatic that he was, may have understood if he wasn't so busy watching the passing travelers with rapt fascination.  
  
"Thanks for that, Remus, but don't think you were sneaky, changing the subject like that. I haven't forgotten my question. Who tipped off Dumbledore?"  
  
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he said dryly.  
  
"Oh, go on!"  
  
"It was Severus."  
  
"Snape?" Tonks's face was a mask of disbelief.  
  
Remus nodded and turned to leave the station, oblivious to the shell- shocked young witch standing behind him as he whistled 'The Man on the Flying Trapeze' just a little too cheerfully to be convincing.  
  
xXxXxXxXxXx  
  
Hermione stood glued to the spot as she watched Harry's 'welcoming committee', as Ron had called them, leave.  
  
"Hermione!" Ron's voice cut through her stupor without an ounce of subtlety.  
  
"Hermione!" he repeated, waving a hand in front of her face. "Aren't your parents over there?"  
  
"Yeah," she said dismissively, still looking at the spot where Lupin had been standing and not even glancing where Ron pointed. "Just listen for a minute, though. I just heard Lupin saying Professor Snape was the one who told Dumbledore to scare the Dursleys."  
  
Ron stared at her skeptically for a moment before he burst out laughing. "Snape? Greasy git of a Potions Master, you mean? You've done too much studying, Hermione. I reckon you've gone round the bend—"  
  
"No, Ron, Lupin was just telling the others—right after they threatened Harry's aunt and uncle!"  
  
"You probably heard wrong, Hermione, I—"  
  
"Come on, Ron, we've got to get going." Mrs. Weasley tapped her youngest son on the shoulder.  
  
"I've gotta go, Hermione, I'll owl you."  
  
"Bye, Ron." On impulse, she stood on tiptoe to throw her arms around him and give him a kiss on the cheek, ignoring the hoots and catcalls from Fred and George.  
  
XXxXxXxXxXx  
  
The next morning, the sun rose over Privet Drive far earlier than anyone cared to be awake, save one bespectacled boy residing in Number Four.  
  
Harry Potter had been awake since three, when his sleep had been so disrupted by nightmares that he gave up on any idea of slumber. He had spent the three or so hours since lying flat on his back and staring lethargically at the ceiling. Every time he had even started pondering sleep, images of Sirius floated to the surface of his thoughts: laughing and smiling in the picture of James and Lily's wedding...earnestly asking Harry to come live with him...and, most painful of all, falling backwards through a black veil that fluttered as though from an undetectable breeze.  
  
As the first pink rays of dawn fanned across the room, Harry let his heavy eyelids fall in hope of a few hours' uninterrupted sleep.  
  
xXxXxXxXxXx  
  
It seemed like he had scarcely blinked when Aunt Petunia's shrill, piercing voice woke him abruptly.  
  
"Get up! I want you to make breakfast!"  
  
Getting out of bed was a heavy task, and Harry's body protested in exhaustion. He began a laborious search for a pair of Dudley's old clothes that fit even slightly. It seemed that the Order's threat, while frightening the Dursleys into feeding Harry, had done nothing to quell their hatred for him.  
  
Yesterday, when the family and Harry (who didn't really count) had returned from King's Cross, Uncle Vernon had grudgingly taken Harry's trunk up to his room and thrown him an extremely dirty look before slamming the door behind him, making it all too clear he wasn't welcome at dinner. The rest of the Harry's evening had been useless, composed of the alternating restless pacing and apathetic blanks he had become prone to the summer before. When sleep had finally descended upon him, it had been agonisingly painful.  
  
Finally discovering a T-shirt that didn't fall past his knees, Harry dressed as quickly as his tired limbs would allow and headed to the kitchen. Aunt Petunia was already there, making toast. She sniffed the disapproving sniff she used every time she looked at Harry and shoved a spatula in his direction.  
  
"Fry the bacon." She didn't say 'please', nor did she make any attempt at politeness. Harry shrugged and did as he was told.  
  
Fifteen minutes later, Uncle Vernon came lumbering down the stairs in all his elephantine glory. His great bushy moustache quivered slightly as he looked his nephew up and down. "Boy!" he suddenly spat, more viciously than Harry would have preferred, "Every summer you show up back here, freeloading off our charity. You're going to start earning your keep around here."  
  
"Mmm-hmm." Harry didn't bother pointing out that he had been earning his keep since he had gained the ability to walk.  
  
"You're going to help your aunt with the housework today."  
  
"Fine."  
  
The beefy man narrowed his eyes and said, "None of your funny business, either. Freak friends or not, if there's a repeat of last summer you'll be in your old bedroom for the rest of the holidays."  
  
"Whatever you say."  
  
xXxXxXxXxXxXx  
  
Hours later, Harry fell onto his lumpy mattress in an exhausted heap. It turned out that 'helping with the housework' really meant doing hours of hard labour while Aunt Petunia flitted about, spying on the neighbours and occasionally dropping criticisms before she retreated to the house to watch on melodramatic soap opera after another. He himself hadn't gotten a moment's rest all day, but he didn't particularly mind because the long, tedious tasks had given him little time to ponder Sirius's death.  
  
Not that there was much to ponder, really. No matter which angle Harry viewed the situation from, it was his fault. A thousand if-onlys chased themselves in torturous cycles about his head. If only he'd learned Occlumency...if only he'd used the two-way mirror...if only he'd remembered that Snape was in the Order too...if only he'd never touched the prophecy...  
  
Harry let out an anguished half-moan and rolled over. It was still very early in the evening, and he knew a shower would feel soothing on his aching, sweaty limbs, but he couldn't even master the energy to get to his feet.  
  
With a great heave, he propped himself onto his elbows and glanced briefly at the mirror hanging on his wardrobe door. His eyes only scanned over the reflective surface for a moment, but something in the image made him freeze. His reflection looked quite normal now, but an instant ago he could've sworn he'd seen a flicker of something else.  
  
Staring very hard at the mirror, he saw it again. It was as though his reflection had very quickly rippled to something else, but shifted back before he could comprehend what he was seeing. Harry gazed at the glass for another long moment and decided he had imagined it all.  
  
He toppled off the bed onto his wobbly legs and stretched his arms, turning to read the dimly blinking digital numbers on his battered nightstand. It wasn't quite nine in the evening and Harry wanted to wait as long as possible before going to sleep, hoping to evade the nightmares through mental and physical exhaustion.  
  
He had chosen to skip dinner (Aunt Petunia had given him a nasty look and Vernon had proclaimed in a loud voice that he wouldn't be blamed by 'those freaks' if Harry lost weight), but suddenly he felt his empty stomach churning as though to bring up its non-existent contents. He began to get the unfortunately familiar feeling that his senses were being invaded. A sort of eager anticipation filled him, and he knew only Voldemort would be influencing him like this. The emotions stirred with his own, confused and turbulent, and threatened to overcome Harry as his heart began to race with thrill.  
  
Before he was swept away and lost in Voldemort's mind, he grounded himself and began an attempt to push the foreign feelings out. He had never really gotten the hang of Occlumency, but cleared his mind as he had been told to on countless occasions. It took several minutes of mental struggling before he was finally able to push the unwanted presence out of his head completely.  
  
Feeling much to vulnerable, Harry looked around for a distraction. He walked to his open trunk and stared thoughtfully at its contents, considering his books. He didn't have and holiday homework yet, since he didn't know his O.W.L. results, but had vowed to himself to work harder, especially if he had somehow scraped the 'O' he needed in Potions to progress to N.E.W.T. level. That thought in mind, he pulled out his slightly worn copy of 'One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi', making a mental note to try and get hold of some books to study Occlumency, Potions, and Defence Against the Dark Arts over the summer.  
  
Feeling rather Hermione-ish, he settled onto his bed and started reading the book from the beginning. He kept the vigil, even as the hour grew later and it became more and more difficult to stay awake. Some time near midnight his head grew too heavy to continue...  
  
xXxXxXxXxXx  
  
Emily Thorpe tossed restlessly, attempting to find some semblance of a normal sleep. Finally giving up, she rose from the bed she shared with her husband Mark and slipped on a bathrobe.  
  
Padding softly across the room's cheap-but-soft carpeting to where their three-month old daughter, Rachel, lay in her cradle, she gazed at the child. Rachel lay sleeping soundly for once, looking completely undisturbed. All the same, Emily could not shake the feeling that something was horribly wrong.  
  
She wasn't superstitious per se, but Emily didn't take it lightly when she felt something amiss. The last tome she'd had a feeling like this, her great-aunt Catherine and died in her sleep. Though quite along in years at ninety-six, Catherine had been fit and spry, so Emily had seen her death as more than coincidence.  
  
She had it now, that feeling of impending doom, had been feeling it ever since earlier that evening. She tried to convince herself that it was only because of the strange deaths she'd heard about on the nightly news, but that was hundreds of miles from their small town of Waterbury.  
  
Emily had just decided to go back to bed when a noise from the hall of their small, one-story home startled her.  
  
Frantic with fear, she hurried to her husband's side. "Mark!"  
  
Bleary-eyed and clad only in sweat pants, Mark sat up. "Em?" he murmured, stifling a yawn. "What time is it?"  
  
"Mark, I think someone's broken into the house!"  
  
His composure changed from tired to tense and alert in the blink of an eye. "Stay here!" He strode purposefully to the door.  
  
Before he was even halfway across the room, however, someone else opened the door. Half a dozen robed strangers entered the bedroom, each sporting a white mask and a long, thing stick of wood.  
  
Mark had no chance to react. One of the intruders shouted a foreign- sounding word that Emily couldn't catch, and a bolt of light flew from the stick in his hand. Suddenly, her love was on the ground writhing and screaming.  
  
"Mark!" she cried, forgetting her fear as she rushed to his side. "Please, stop!" she begged the trespassers.  
  
The man who had shouted laughed coldly, and another one kicked her viciously in the side so that she fell out of the way. They continued torturing her husband, even as she kept pleading for them to stop. When Mark's screams stopped and his arms and legs quit twitching, Emily knew it was the end. Desperate with grief, she crawled back to his side.  
  
Through heavy sobs, she whispered his name, tugging at his hands. They were still warm.  
  
Loud, piercing cries distracted the group. They turned to the cradle, where Rachel had chosen completely the wrong moment to wake up.  
  
"A baby?" laughed a mocking voice with a distinct female quality. "A baby? Surely we can kill it, too, Lucius."  
  
"You know the master's wishes better than I, Bella. It wouldn't do to leave one of the filthy Muggles alive." The man who was leading the aggressors spoke once more.  
  
"No!" screamed Emily, lunging toward her child.  
  
"Shut up!" cried the woman. She shouted a gleeful phrase that sounded suspiciously like 'abra cadabra' to Emily's ears. There was a flash of light, and Rachel's cries stopped. A distraught Emily didn't need to look to know that her daughter now lay dead as well.  
  
The woman laughed cruelly, an inhuman sound of pure sadistic pleasure, before turning back to the remaining survivor. She shouted the same foreign phrase that the man had shouted earlier at Mark.  
  
Emily's back arched in pain and she began to scream. Pain filled her body: every nerve and tissue and bone felt as though it were engulfed by flames. Her limbs flailed and flopped uselessly, swinging in all directions. When the pain finally subsided, she felt as though the torture had lasted hours instead of minutes. Everything felt fuzzy, and she could no longer think clearly.  
  
She heard, as though from a great distance, the man tell the woman to hurry up. He said yet another strange word and something burst out of his thin stick—wand?—and hovered in the sky, visible through the gaping hole that had suddenly appeared in the roof of the house.  
  
The woman laughed again, and it sent shivers up Emily's spine. She repeated the words she had yelled at Rachel and the last thing the woman was conscious of was a great flash of green light and a soft whooshing sound, as though an invisible angel of death was bearing down upon her.  
  
xXxXxXxXxXxXx  
  
Harry woke with a yell, sweating and shaking uncontrollably. Somehow—somehow he had felt the pain as the Death Eaters tortured the Muggles. Tremors racked his body. The pain, though very real, had felt like a watered-down version of the Cruciatus. If it had been the full-scale curse, he would surely be dead.  
  
He was quite sure the events of the dream had actually taken place, like the ones he had when his connection with Voldemort sparked, but there had been no trace of the madman formerly known as Tom Marvolo Riddle. The absence scared rather than relieved him.  
  
When the tremors finally ceased, Harry was startled by the sound of footsteps approaching his bedroom door. He collected his wits, knowing he would shortly have to deal with a tired and angry Vernon. Sure enough, his uncle appeared a minute later, silhouetted by a dim sliver of light from the hall beyond.  
  
"What's wrong with you? Do you realise what time it is? Stop your infernal yelling!" Vernon, ever-talented at changing the colour of his face, had turned an interesting shade that caused him to bear great resemblance to a raspberry.  
  
Harry jumped to his feet indignantly. "I didn't do it on purpose!"  
  
"I don't like your attitude!" His uncle began to advance, raising a thick fist.  
  
"You can't control me like that anymore!" said Harry, swiftly sidestepping the enraged man and pushing back the sick, icy feeling in his stomach that could have been fear. "If you even touch me this summer, you'll have fully grown—" he almost said 'wizards' but stopped himself: even the Order's threat had its limits on the scope of Vernon's fear—"you'll have my kind coming up the front walk before you can get in a second blow."  
  
Uncle Vernon stopped abruptly, looking very much as though he wished to test this theory, but instead he turned around with one fist still raised and stormed out of the room.  
  
As he sat back down on his bed, Harry had to swallow several times to overcome the sudden dryness in his mouth. Despite his confident words to Vernon, he was terrified the man would forget the Order's threat and 'discipline' Harry physically—the way he had before Harry got his Hogwarts letter. If his uncle did strike him again, in a fit of rage, he wasn't sure the Order would find it enough of an emergency to come to his aid. They seemed pretty sure the Dursleys wouldn't try anything, and he was, after all, safe from Voldemort at Privet Drive. With the war going on, the Order of the Phoenix no doubt had bigger fish to fry.  
  
Harry began pacing restlessly. The thought of the coming years didn't fill Harry with excitement or nervousness about taking N.E.W.T.s and graduating Hogwarts, rather it almost made him sick, because any chance he might ever have had at a normal life was gone. What was it that seemed to make fate work against him? Of course, the war would affect everyone, but none of his classmates were marked from birth—none of them had to fulfil some awful, looming prophecy. He couldn't decide whether or not to tell Ron and Hermione that he'd heard it. He wanted them to understand that he had no choice but to fight but was afraid they would treat him differently once they knew. Moreover, he was afraid of putting them in danger.  
  
As an outlet for his anxiety, Harry decided to write to Dumbledore to tell him about the vision and his ability to experience it sans Dark Lord. He thought he might as well also write the Order with assurances of his well being.  
  
He sat down at his wobbly desk, spreading a bit of blank parchment before him. Harry didn't know what exactly to say to Dumbledore, so he simply decided to write the Order first.  
  
'Dear Everyone,  
  
Everything's fine here. The Dursleys are treating me all right, mainly because they're terrified of what will happen if they don't. Thanks for stopping them in the station—if you hadn't, they probably wouldn't be feeding me. Just the same, I'd really like to get out of here soon.  
  
Harry'  
  
He gave the letter a quick read-through and decided it didn't give away any 'top secret' information. It was short and blunt, but he didn't care a great deal.  
  
The letter to Dumbledore was proving much harder to write. Harry didn't know how to address the man in writing, and the last time he'd spoken to him it had been in the ruins of an office he himself had smashed.  
  
'Headmaster Dumbledore,' he finally wrote,  
  
I think I should apologise to you for my behaviour at the end of last term, after the battle at the Department of Mysteries. My actions were destructive and irrational, and I will pay for any lasting damages I have caused.  
  
Last night, I had a vision—but Riddle wasn't in it. It was his followers torturing some Muggles. There hasn't been anything in the Prophet yet, but I think a lot of them have escaped from prison since we last spoke. There's something I don't understand: how did I see and experience everything if Riddle wasn't there? I'm sure it was real. They put the Cruciatus curse on a couple and killed them and their baby.  
  
I really think I should continue Remedial Potions lessons, for reasons now apparent. If the professor is unwilling to give me a second chance, I suppose I can understand that, and I will learn it on my own.  
  
Although my aunt and uncle are treating me a bit better than they have in previous summers, sir, I would very much like to leave here soon.  
  
Thank you,  
Harry Potter'  
  
He reread this letter also, particularly scanning for something that might give away Snape and the Occlumency lessons. Nothing jumped out at him, so he rolled up both letters and tied them to Hedwig's leg.  
  
"Dumbledore first, then Grimmuald Place, okay Hedwig?"  
  
She hooted in acknowledgement and took flight. Harry checked the time again and saw it was just after 2 A.M. He sighed and found his place in 'One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi', which had fallen to the floor. He began reading about the magical properties of belladonna, counting the hours till dawn.  
  
xXxXxXxXxXx  
  
A/N: So, what do you think? Did you notice insomnia as the reigning theme in this chapter? So what if I wrote most of it at night...and I'm an insomniac. Its not one of my longest or best chapters, but I'm happier with it than I am with my first chapters of "Suffering". Let me know what you think...please? (sticks out lower lip, pouting) 


	2. Dream On

Harry Potter and the Rise of War

Chapter 2: Dream On

See chapter one for warning and summary.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., and Scholastic. The song "Dream On", for which this chapter is titled, and the lyrics of said song listed below belong to Stephen Tyler, Daksel Music Corp. and Song And Dance Music Co., and the group Aerosmith.

A/N: I switched the category for this story to angst because I have visions of this fic becoming rather...emotionally turmoil-y....for Harry. (looks over shoulder erratically) Err...can I say turmoil-y if it's not a real word? I wouldn't want the police bearing down on me...anyway, This is now officially an Angst/Drama fic. Also, if you didn't notice in the first chapter, I am using song titles as chapter titles. This was not my idea originally and I am not trying to take credit for it! I saw it in a fic (unfortunately, I don't remember which one) and thought it was a good idea. If you are the author who started doing this, please let me know so I can give you proper credit. Thank you to reviewers, as always. You make me smile.

xXxXxXxXxXxXx

Every time that I look in the mirror,

All these lines on my face getting' clearer.

The past is gone;

It went by like dusk to dawn.

Isn't that the way

Everybody's got their dues in life to pay?

Half my life's in book's written pages,

Lived and learned from fools and from sages.

You know it's true,

All these things come back to you.

Sing with me, sing for the years,

Sing for the laughter'n'sing for the tears.

Sing with me if it's just for today,

Maybe tomorrow the good Lord will take you away.

-"Dream On"

Aerosmith

xXxXxXxXxXxXx

As the sun finally peeked above the horizon, Harry marked his spot in the book and stood up from the desk. He'd remained in an uncomfortable position all night, unwilling to chance falling asleep again.

He surveyed his face in the mirror again. He looked gaunt, pale, and drawn, there were deep purple bags under his eyes, but he didn't see the flicker he'd observed the previous night.

He walked to his window and opened it a crack, letting the cool morning air refresh him a bit. He took deep breaths, concentrating on the air entering and leaving his lungs and trying to ignore the pain circulating through his body like blood.

When Aunt Petunia called him down to breakfast (which he had, surprisingly, not had to help make—perhaps the Dursleys thought he might try to slip them something), he stumbled half blindly downstairs, his body protesting all the while. About halfway down the staircase, Dudley came thundering along behind him, pushing Harry aside and causing him to tumble haphazardly down the last few steps. He landed flat on his back in the hall below, winded. His already sore body now throbbing with renewed intensity, he gingerly picked himself up off the immaculate carpeting and continued into the kitchen.

Carefully selecting a seat that was a good distance from Vernon, Harry eased into a chair and waited until everyone else had been served to reach for a piece of toast. He didn't feel hungry in the slightest, but felt it would please Mrs. Weasley if he kept his weight up and things would be easier on all of them.

"You!" snapped Aunt Petunia, looking disgusted as always that Harry dared enter her pristine kitchen. "I want you to stay out of the house today. I'm having the carpets cleaned and there's no reason for you to loaf about the house."

Harry didn't respond except to nod, slowly chewing on a tiny corner of his toast. Several minutes later, he retreated up to his room to change and grab his very old and very worn trainers.

He stepped outside and immediately felt a wave of dizziness from the bright, glaring sunlight. He had no idea where Petunia expected him to go for the day, but finally set off to the park that Dudley and his gang had desecrated the previous summer.

Leaning against a large tree and seeking refuge in its shade, Harry lightly touched the waistband of his jeans, where he still kept his wand concealed, regardless of Mad-Eye Moody's irate grumbling about lost buttocks.

He closed his eyes and let the sun soak through his eyelids, filling the inside of his head with golden light. He was so relaxed that he jumped nearly two feet in the air when a voice behind him whispered, "Wotcher, Harry!"

Whirling around, he saw a girl who looked close to his own age grinning down at him through shiny metal braces. She tossed her dark hair over her shoulder and sat down with exaggerated flippant silliness, reminding him strongly of Lavender Brown.

"I thought if I looked like a teenager, people would be less suspicious to see me talking to you."

"You scared me, Tonks!" he exclaimed. "Nice disguise, though the neighbours will think it's strange that anyone is talking to me."

"How so?"

Harry explained the Dursleys' St. Brutus's story.

"Incurably criminal, you say?" she repeated, looking faintly amused. "I must say, you really aren't the type."

Harry gave her half a smile while holding his hand over his eyes.

"Harry, its good to see you outside, but you really don't look well."

"Funny thing is, I don't feel so great either. So why are you allowed to talk to me now? I mean, last year Dumbledore didn't seem to want me to know I was being followed." He changed the subject quickly.

"Well, Dumbledore seemed to think that he may have made some errors in judgement last summer. I think he decided you needed a little human contact besides those Muggles. No one can recognise me, obviously, so it seemed like the safest option."

Harry nodded in understanding, trying and failing to suppress an enormous yawn.

"Honestly, Harry, haven't you been getting any sleep?"

"Some," he mumbled, not meeting the Auror's eyes.

She sighed. "Remus and Molly are already worried sick about you. We all are, but those two most of all. You need to get some rest."

Harry quickly swallowed the rising comment that she should try sleeping while experiencing Death Eater torture sessions, and instead choked out in a strained voice, "Remus is worried about me?"

"Of course. He doesn't let it on much, but he's at least as bad as your friend Ron's mum."

"Well, he shouldn't get upset on my account. Neither should Mrs. Weasley, for that matter...can you just do me one favour, though?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you ask them when I can get out of here?"

Tonks looked at him with an uncharacteristically serious face. "Harry, I sympathise with you, I really do, but you know why you have to be here." So, apparently, did most of the Order.

"Yeah, I know...I just hate it here," he said sadly, wearily closing his eyes once more.

"Hey, why don't you go home and take a nap? I won't tell anyone," she whispered conspiratorially.

"I can't. My aunt's banned me from the house."

"Surely she won't mind if you just stay out of the way."

He opened one eye jut far enough to give the young woman a cynical look.

"Or maybe she will mind."

"I'm an inconvenience to them, you see."

"I'm sure they care for you deep down, Harry."

"Everyone always says that. To tell you the truth, I don't see it."

The Metamorphmagus gave him a cheeky grin. "I'd better get back to my post. Wouldn't want to catch any unwanted attention." She winked and got to her feet, tripping over a tree root in the process. Harry watched her go, feeling melancholy. She was the only person for miles that would talk to him or even do him the courtesy of looking at him.

He sat under the tree for a good chunk of the day, completely skipping lunch and instead staring apathetically at the clouds. He considered taking a nap right there in the park, but decided against it when he imagined the earful he would receive from Moody about 'constant vigilance' if he found out.

That evening, as the sky darkened and Harry decided it would be all right to return to Number Four, he stood up for the walk home, grimacing at the stiff soreness in his arms and legs.

Going back to the Dursleys's, he passed several neighbours who had taken advantage of the fine weather to stretch their legs in the settling dusk. Each time he passed one of them, the other person would throw him a suspicious glare and speed up considerably. Harry supposed he could understand their paranoia—he was, after all, incurably criminal.

That night after dinner (which he hadn't eaten any of), Harry returned to his bedroom to see an owl waiting on his bed. He quickly relieved the creature of its letter so that it could fly back out the open window.

He saw his name on the envelope in the looping cursive he had come to recognise as the headmaster's. He pulled out the letter and began to read. He grew more and more angry with every line he read. When he finished, he tossed the letter fiercely into a corner of the room and sank onto his bed with a groan.

Dumbledore's letter had said that he didn't know why Harry had the vision, but that he should clear his mind each night. He was going to speak with Snape and try to persuade him to keep teaching Harry 'Remedial Potions' lessons. Above all else, though, the headmaster told him that because Lucius Malfoy and the others had escaped Azkaban much sooner than the Order had expected, Harry wasn't to leave the house under any circumstances.

Furious, Harry paced is room for several hours, kicking every furnishing he passed. Finally, far into the early morning hours, he attempted to clear his fuzzy mind and drifted into an uneasy sleep.

xXxXxXxXxXxXx

Over the next week, life at Privet Drive had gone from bad to worse. Confined to the house, Harry rarely left his room. He continued assuring the Order, as well as Ron and Hermione, that he was fine, but used the term quite loosely. He scarcely ate, and, despite his attempts at Occlumency, repeated visions and nightmares interrupted the few hours of sleep he got each night. He knew he was pale and had perpetual bags under his eyes, but those were only minor problems compared to the constant aches that plagued his body after the first night of visions. Worst of all, though, he was now living in fear of the chance that Uncle Vernon might forget the Order's threat and revert to his more physical child-rearing methods.

In fact, the only bright spot Harry could find with his current living situation was the realisation that he read so much that he was likely to be even further ahead in his studies than Hermione at the start of term.

When Harry woke on the eleventh morning after leaving Hogwarts, he felt nothing but the ever-increasing pain inflicted by his nightly visions and a dull sort of emptiness at the prospect of another bleak day.

At breakfast, Uncle Vernon eyed him nastily over his coffee. One look at the man told Harry he was in a more horrible mood than usual. Sure enough, the instant he stood to leave the room, Vernon said angrily, "You're to paint the fence today. I'll have no more of this hiding in your room to avoid work."

Harry gave an exasperated sigh. He would've loved to go outside. "I can't paint the fence, Uncle Vernon. I'm not allowed to leave the house."

Vernon rose to his feet. "I don't believe a word of that story. You're spending too much time in our house, feeding on our charity. Dudley goes out everyday. You don't see him loafing around our house."

Harry snorted. Feeling reckless, he said, "Dudley? Yeah, Dudley goes out every day—to beat up ten year-olds!" He instantly knew he'd gone too far.

"HOW DARE YOU!" Vernon's booming voice erupted.

The next thing he knew, Harry was laying on the floor with stars dancing in his eyes. Vernon had punched him so hard in the face that it took a full minute for his head to stop spinning. By the time his head had cleared, his uncle had left the room.

Harry scrambled to his feet and retreated to his bedroom, intending to write the Order and Dumbledore, demanding to leave that very day, because if he stayed any longer he feared for his own safety. However, an owl was already waiting for him when he reached his sanctuary. He immediately tore open the letter it bore.

'Harry,

We'll be there at eleven. Be ready to go.

Sincerely,

Remus Lupin'

By the time ten-thirty rolled around, Harry was packed and pacing the hall. Fortunately, Vernon had already left for work. Aunt Petunia was milling about the kitchen, shooting a furtive glance his way every now and again.

Earlier, he'd caught sight of his face in a mirror and was not pleased. He wasn't sure how he was to explain away the tender dew bruise on his cheek or the cut under his eye from the metal rim of his glasses.

The suspicious bruising was only one reason he was feeling apprehensive. Despite his anxiety to leave Privet Drive, despite the fact that it had been less than two weeks since the end of term, the thought of facing Ron and Hermione and the others made him feel slightly nauseous. He knew now that if he told them the Prophecy, he might as well hand them over to Voldemort—the burning in his scar, not to mention the visions, made it all too clear that the Dark Lord was furious that the Prophecy had been smashed.

He had settled to sitting on the bottom-most step with his trunk and had just started feeling the first stirring of impatience when the doorbell rang. Harry ran to get it and was met by the same group that had threatened the Dursleys at King's Cross.

"Wotcher, Harry!" greeted an orange-haired Tonks.

"Hurry up and let us in, Potter!" growled Moody, looking around shiftily. "It's broad daylight! Anyone could be watching!"

Harry stepped aside hesitantly. Aunt Petunia's irritable bustling had become noticeably louder, but he ignored her and retrieved his trunk from the stairs.

"Harry," asked Mr. Weasley, "Are you ill?"

"I-I'm fine. I...er...just haven't been getting much sleep."

"What happened to your face?" said Remus shrewdly.

Though he had been braced for the question, Harry couldn't think of a suitable answer. Instead, he just shrugged.

"It was the Muggles." He came to this conclusion far more quickly than Harry would've liked. Aunt Petunia's bustling sounds suddenly stopped. Harry just shrugged again.

Lupin looked like he wanted to keep going at the subject, but Mr. Weasley quickly said, "We need to get going."

Moody pulled an old Daily Prophet from his pocket and held it out. "Portkey. Everybody grab on." Harry grasped the newspaper with one hand, clutching his trunk handle with the other. "Three...two...one!"

He felt the familiar tug at his navel and closed his eyes. He didn't open them again until his feet touched the ground. Unfortunately, the trunk Harry was holding was travelling at quite a high speed, and it knocked into him as the group landed. He was blown off his feet, grimacing as the trunk landed on his chest.

Looking around as he unsuccessfully attempted to push the trunk off himself, he recognised the bit of floor he could make out as the kitchen of Number Twelve, Grimmuald Place.

He was still struggling and beginning to get very short of breath when Mr. Weasley, who was nearest to him, finally realised the he was stuck. The older man quickly lifted the trunk off of Harry, who sat up, clutching his now bruised ribs and gasping for breath as the pains from the visions were reawakened.

Lupin quickly bent down to help him to his feet. "Merlin, Harry, you're thin."

He made a small, noncommittal gesture as he rubbed his aching ribs and sank into a chair.

"So what exactly happened to your face?" He chose to pretend he couldn't hear Remus.

"What did the Muggles do?"

The two stared each other down for a few minutes before Harry sighed ill temperedly. "It's not a big deal...don't make this out to be more tan it is...my uncle just...threw a punch, is all. I didn't duck fast enough."

"Harry!"

"Look," his voice escalated slightly. "It was my fault, OK? I shot my mouth off. Vernon was in a bad mood the whole time I was at Privet Drive, and I just pushed him too far."

"Harry, there's no excuse for this. Family members don't punch each other in the face."

"Well that's fitting then, isn't it?" said Harry acridly. "As I have no family."

The whole of the room stared open-mouthed at him. Feeling uncomfortably spotlighted, he muttered, "Can we drop it, please?"

"Has he hit you before this?"

Harry's heart caught in his throat. "No," he said firmly, though his stomach had dropped unpleasantly at the question. "Just drop it, please."

A moment later, there came the sound of someone knocking on the door. Mrs. Weasley went to answer and soon after Dumbledore entered the room. "Hello, Harry."

"Hello, Professor Dumbledore."

"Harry, what happened to your face?"

Harry groaned and buried his head in his arms, where they were crossed on the table.

"You missed the conversation, Albus, but he said that oaf of a Muggle punched him," Moody growled.

He could literally feel the Headmaster's anger. The man was about to speak, no doubt to give him the same interrogation that Remus had, when noisy footfalls began to reverberate throughout the room, announcing the arrival of Hermione and the younger Weasleys.

Thick anxiety settled onto him one more. He wasn't ready to see Ron and Hermione. Not yet, with the prophecy looming over his head like a storm cloud everywhere he went...not with Sirius's death so raw and fresh inside him. All the same, he took a deep breath and pasted on a painful smile as the door opened.

"Harry!" Hermione shrieked the instant she appeared in the doorway, rushing over to him. She gave him a bone-crushing hug.

He grimaced in pain. "Hi, Hermione," he replied, hugging her back and hoping his voice didn't sound too strained.

"Hey, mate," grinned Ron.

The customary 'how was your summer?'s and 'what happened to your face?'s went on for several minutes. As before, everyone looked angry when he grudgingly admitted that Vernon had punched him, while Hermione seemed alarmed and didn't look all too convinced when he assured the others that it hadn't happened before. Finally, Mrs. Weasley put the awkward (to Harry, at least) chatter to an end by insisting that they all had some lunch, because Harry 'looked as if he hadn't eaten in days'.

It was painful, sitting there in Sirius's kitchen without him there, eating until he felt sick just to please Mrs. Weasley. He didn't belong here—none of them did. Sirius wouldn't have wanted the place left standing. The empty, lonely darkness that always filled the house seemed amplified by the absence of its master.

"Harry?" asked Hermione, "Are you alright? You look really ill."

"Everyone keeps saying that. I'm fine!" He did his best to sound as though he was simply exasperated by everyone's fussing.

After lunch, Harry had to get up and walk around to keep from dropping off right in his seat. Ron helped him drag his trunk up to the room they were sharing once more, followed by Ginny, the twins, and Hermione. Everyone sat around talking for a bit, but Harry didn't pay much attention to the conversation—the words buzzed around him meaninglessly, malting into the air while he struggled to stay awake.

A quarter of an hour passed before he finally gave up and said, "It's really great to see you guys again, but I think I'll take a quick nap before dinner. I haven't been getting a lot of sleep—Vernon and Dudley are two of the loudest snorers I've ever heard."

Everyone made to leave, but Harry stopped them. "I don't mind if you stay here and talk." He attempted t clear his mind as the others sat down and resumed their chatter, but the fatigue pulling at his mind made Occlumency impossible. He just hoped that Voldemort and the Death Eaters stuck to working at night.

xXxXxXxXxXxXx

As Harry fell asleep, Ron, Ginny, Fred, George, and Hermione kept on talking. Ron glanced over at his best friend from time to time, noting how he turned in his sleep.

"Poor bloke," said Fred, who was not usually inclined to be sympathetic. "Looks like he hasn't slept since we last saw him."

Several hours later, after the Order meeting had started downstairs, Harry remained sleep, though he tossed fretfully every once in awhile.

"Should we wake him?" asked Ginny. "We'll be having dinner soon."

The words had scarcely left her mouth when the sleeping teen began to thrash about worse than Ron had ever seen. Still slumbering, his face went stark white and he let out an inhuman scream.

Ron leapt to his feet, his heart hammering furiously. "Ginny," he demanded frantically, "go get someone!"

"They're all at the meeting!" She didn't seem to understand how serious Harry's nightmares were.

"So interrupt them! Pound on the door, throw things at it, light it on fire for all I care! Just get someone! This is serious!"

Ginny, looking slightly frightened by the fierce urgency in her brother's voice, turned and fled from the room.

Hermione started slapping Harry's face to bring him around. When that failed, Fred and George tried using 'Enervate' and even dousing him with water, all to no avail.

The nightmare clutching Harry in its throes was worse than any episode Ron had ever witnessed. It was worse than the effect the Dementors had, worse even then when Harry had seen Dad attacked the previous winter. His whole body jerked as though he were possessed, and his scar stood out raw and red in contrast with his pale skin. Ron put a hand to his sweaty forehead, and the blemish felt hot—burning, even.

Moments later, Ginny bounded back into the room followed closely by Lupin, Tonks, Dumbledore, Mum, Dad, Bill, Charlie, McGonagall, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and quite surprisingly, Snape.

At that precise moment, Harry's nightmare seemed to climax, and he screamed his loudest yet. Suddenly, he sat up with his eyes wide open, looking around wildly. He didn't seem to realise where he was.

"S-sorry..." he whispered, shaking but not appearing to really recognise the people surrounding him. "I-I had a nightmare..." His breathing was very ragged.

"That was one hell of a nightmare, Harry," said George. Mum didn't even scold him for swearing.

'Um...I'm fine...you can all leave, really," he muttered, rubbing his scar disorientedly and still shivering. Ron could see that his eyes looked glazed and he still didn't seem to comprehend the situation.

Several of the adults chimed in 'I don't think so's, and Lupin helped him to his feet while asking, "What happened?"

"I had a vision..."

Ron noticed that Remus was supporting most of Harry's—he seemed incapable of standing. His usually fiercely independent friend allowed the older man to lead him out of the room and down the stairs, still looking disoriented. The rest followed them down to the kitchen, procession-like. Dumbledore went to close the door before Ron and the others entered the room.

"Wait!" said Ron. "Harry's OUR friend! We want to know what's going on with him!"

"I know Harry is your friend, but I believe it would be best to let him tell you on his own terms. If he wants you to know, he will tell you."

Ron would have protested, but he could see there would be no arguing with the Headmaster. He nodded slowly, and Dumbledore shut the door.

"Bloody hell," breathed Fred.

xXxXxXxXxXxXx

Harry stared at his feet as he was ushered into the kitchen. He couldn't help but wonder why he'd never realised how funny they looked just shuffling along. At that moment, they seemed to have a mind of their own, refusing to listen to his brain. They crossed and tripped, and if it weren't for Lupin holding him up, he was quite sure he would've fallen.

He was only vaguely aware of Remus helping him into a chair. The fog in his brain made rational thinking very difficult, and he scarcely heard the voices of those around him, though he was sure several people were trying to talk to him.

His scar seared, so painfully that he clasped both hands over his forehead with a gasp, toppling right of the chair and onto his knees. That fall caused the horrible ache from the Cruciatus to flare up worse than ever, so that he went from a gasp to a choke. Now on all fours, he fought tears of pain. When everything stopped hurting so severely, he shakily pulled himself back into the chair. Opening his eyes, he saw that all of the adults were staring at him.

"My scar hurts a little..." he mumbled, feeling the heat rush to his face, "Sorry."

"What happened up there, Harry?" He looked at the Headmaster, struggling to focus even with his glasses.

"The same thing that always happens..." he mumbled uncomfortably. "The Death Eaters were...going after some Muggles...torturing them..."

"What do you mean, the same thing that always happens?" asked McGonagall.

"Um...the same thing that has happened every night for the past week and a half."

Harry was slowly beginning to regain his composure and already felt a deep pang of regret for answering the others questions in his half-coherent state.

"You've had visions every night since you first wrote me?" Dumbledore's tone was hard to read. Harry carefully studied the grain on the table as he nodded, afraid that he would see disappointment if he met the Headmaster's eyes.

Snape, who had amazingly remained silent so far, demanded incredulously, "Do you even attempt to clear your mind at night? Surely even you've realised the importance of Occlumency now."

In one motion, every pair of eyes in the room flicked to Snape, most filled with anger or disgust.

Harry felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Did Snape think he didn't realise that Sirius would still be alive if it weren't for him? "Of course I've been trying to clear my mind! It doesn't help!" He spat indignantly. He glanced at his trembling hands and clenched them tightly in the dim light, the words 'I must not tell lies' shining slightly on the back of his hand.

Dumbledore interjected quickly, putting a stop to the no doubt snide comment forming on Snape's lips. "Harry, you were screaming in your sleep. Do you remember why?"

He certainly did remember why, but he wasn't overly anxious to share his reasons with the adults present. He said in a very quiet voice, "The Death Eaters are very fond of the Cruciatus curse."

"Thank you for that, Potter," said Snape loftily, before anyone could stop him, "but would you care to explain yourself instead of wasting our time stating the obvious?"

Harry glared in Snape's direction but quickly looked down yet again. "I feel it every time they use it..." His voice was barely audible.

There was a brief ripple of confusion, followed by a shocked silence as everyone processed what he'd just told them.

It was Remus who finally broke the silence. "Every night?"

"Er...I guess so—but look, it's not a big deal—it's nothing like the real thing."

"Severus," said Dumbledore, "Have you any potions to counter the effects of the Cruciatus?"

"Look, you don't need to worry about it! I'm fine, honestly!" Harry's proclamation lost some of its effect due to the fact that he let out a gasp of pain when he jumped to his feet in aggravation. He sat back down immediately, feeling the burning gaze of all four Weasleys present on him.

"Severus, a potion?" repeated Dumbledore.

The potions master shook his head curtly. "None exists to counter the Cruciatus. That's part of why it is such a dangerous curse."

"Very well. The Occlumency lessons will have to resume immediately. Harry, Professor Snape, I'd like to speak to you both after dinner to make arrangements."

Harry nodded glumly. "Is that all?"

Dumbledore gave a single nod of affirmation, going to the door to let the others in. Harry wished desperately to disappear from the room, away from the scrutinising stares, but had a feeling that dinner would be forced upon him. Indeed, when he stood and attempted to sneak away, Lupin and Mrs. Weasley each firmly took hold of one of his shoulders and pushed him back into his chair.

He ate very little, looking only at his plate and pretending not to notice the significant glances his friends were shooting at each other. Harder to ignore was the searching gaze of Snape, who had only stayed for dinner so he could speak with Dumbledore after. The man's subtle scrutiny gave Harry an awful thirst to squirm.

All things considered, he was ready to sprint from the room by the time dinner was over, but he met Dumbledore's eyes and knew he'd have to stick it out. It was with an inward groan that he stayed behind with the Headmaster and Snape as the room cleared out.

"Severus, Harry, as I said earlier, it is crucial to resume Occlumency lessons. Severus, you know as well as I that you are the most skilled Occlumens in years, and therefore the best person to teach Harry."

Snape opened his mouth in furious protest but Harry jumped in, needing to be heard. "Professors...there's...something I need to say to both of you..." he felt immensely uncomfortable, and could sense the dull flush rising from his neck to his cheeks. "I'd like to apologise...Professor Dumbledore, I made a lot of stupid decisions last year...Everything that happened at the Department of Mysteries was my fault, and you'll never know how sorry I am. And I...I'm so sorry for letting my emotions get the better of me that morning in your office."

The old man's eyes seemed to dim when Harry admitted this lingering feeling of guilt. "You don't need to apologise for having feelings, Harry."

It didn't occur to him to set Dumbledore straight, so he continued on to Snape. "Professor Snape...I'm sorry. I'm s-sorry I looked into your Pensieve. Those were your private thoughts and there is not real justification for my...doing what I did. I'm sorry I failed at Occlumency. I didn't try hard enough...I'm too..."--he almost spoke his private fear, that he was far to weak to ever master Occlumency and, for that matter, to defeat Voldemort, stopping himself just in time—"I'm sorry. People were injured...died, because of me...and I r- I realise I should've listened.

And, m-most of all, Professor, I—" he drew a deep breath, preparing himself for the hardest part of the whole evening—"I'm sorry for the way my father treated you while you were in school. He was...an arrogant prat to you, and I'm not proud of that. I...erm...I want to make amends, sir, because I don't want a personal grudge to get more people hurt."

Harry couldn't even look at the man, such was his nervousness.

"Potter," his heart sank at the man's icy tone, "that was a quite...touching speech," he sneered. "But I do not believe a word of it. You have all of your father's ego, expecting all the world to do your bidding." Dumbledore made a sound to stop him in his rant, but Snape was relentless. "I refuse to resume teaching you when you have proven to me more than once your enormous capacity for stupidity."

Harry saw red. "I'm not my father! Why can't you let go of your grudge long enough to see that? I know he was a prat to you, but I'm not him! And now YOU'RE JUST AS BAD AS HE WAS!"

Fuming, he turned to Dumbledore and said in a voice of forced calm, "I apologise for wasting your time, Professor. Clearly this isn't going to work out. I-I'm sure I'll survive. They're just nightmares." Then he turned and retreated quietly, in extreme contrast to his outburst just seconds before.

It wasn't until he was halfway to his bedroom that his righteous anger and pumping adrenaline dissipated enough for him to realise what he'd just done. He'd yelled—hollered—at Snape. Of course, the man deserved it—his verbal abuse could be compared to the Dursleys', back before they were afraid of him. No, what really bothered him about the situation was that it looked like he was on his own for Occlumency.

"Woah..." said Ron when Harry stalked into the room. "What happened? You look...erm...mad."

Harry just shook his head and threw himself onto his bed. He didn't fancy waking the house with his screaming, so sleep didn't seem like much of an option. Instead, he sat hunched against the headboard, fighting drowsiness. Around midnight, fearing he would fall asleep despite his best efforts, he crept down to the kitchen with an armload of texts. He lit a fire in the grate the Muggle way and brewed some tea as he studied, his thoughts of Transfiguration and Potions intermingling with those of what Sirius might say if he wee there.

After one of the longest nights of his life, Harry stretched and was just thinking of sneaking back upstairs so Ron would think he'd slept the whole night when Lupin appeared and brought his plans to an end. Apparently, the older man was an early riser.

Remus took one look at Harry and his stack of books and sighed. "Did you sleep at all?"

Harry saw no point in trying to lie. "No. I slept all day yesterday.

The older man frowned. "Besides," he said quietly, "I didn't want to wake everyone up if I...had a vision again."

"What are you going to do tonight? Tomorrow? Next week?" Lupin sounded both shrewd and concerned.

"Well, at Hogwarts, I can cast a silencing charm before I go to bed." His former professor didn't look at all pleased with the situation, but Mrs. Weasley's appearance kept him from continuing.

"Why, you're up early, Harry."

"Well, I had a question about the reading that I thought Pro-Remus might know the answer to." Harry's expression must have been pleading, because Remus nodded in affirmation.

Over the hour, the rest of the adults in the house trickled downstairs. Mrs. Weasley began cooking breakfast, and the smell of food must have wafted up the stairs, because the other teenagers all showed up minutes later.

As at every meal, Mrs. Weasley insisted on giving Harry heaping portions that he never could've finished. He ate half the food on his plate, and, feeling sick, tipped the rest into his napkin when no one else was looking.

Dumbledore was present for dinner again that night. "I've spoken to Professor Snape, and he will be giving you an Occlumency lesson in this room tomorrow evening at five o'clock."

Harry nodded compliantly, half relieved to have help, but half-terrified of the foul mood Snape would no doubt be in.

"On a lighter note, I am sure you will be pleased to hear that Minister Fudge himself has revoked your Quidditch ban."

Harry was pleased—he'd hoped he'd be able to play again—but the Minister's gesture didn't fool him. "Does Fudge think returning my flying privileges will make me forget the past year?" His voice hardened and grew colder. He could sense the entire room listening in, as had been the case frequently as of late. "Does he think I'm going to pretend the Ministry didn't send dementors after me or try to have me arrested or call me a liar? They made my life hell and people suffered because they wouldn't accept that Voldemort is back. Don't get me wrong, Professor, I'm very glad to play again, but you'll understand if I find Fudge's actions...less than amusing." Harry, who normally stuttered when he was agitated, had remained completely calm—detached, even, during his entire declaration. It was eerily uncharacteristic.

There was a pregnant pause, and Harry suddenly found the awkward silence too stifling to endure, as though the rage that had flared inside him and caused him to speak so boldly dad dissolved, taking his recklessness along with it. He murmured a goodnight (noting that his stuttering had returned in full force) to the others and sought out the semi-privacy of the bedroom. He wasn't fond of the idea of another sleepless night, but grabbed a book and attempted to study, only half-paying attention to the text as he contemplated his conundrum.

By the time Ron came up to go to bed, Harry had formulated a quick fix that would allow him to sleep without waking the others if he had a nightmare.

As soon as the redhead's breathing evened out, Harry retrieved a long Gryffindor scarf from his trunk. Knowing how ridiculous it was, but rather proud of his cleverness just the same, he wrapped the garment around his mouth several times, tying it securely. The self-imposed gag was hot and uncomfortable, but effective as a temporary fix. Harry's spirits brightened a bit at the thought that he could simply perform a silencing charm at Hogwarts if the need arose.

Sure enough, he woke that night, just hours after falling asleep, due to another torturous vision. Fortunately for him, the makeshift gag muffled his screams of pain. The ever-present soreness in his body reached an all-time high as he rose from his bed, retreating to the kitchen again—after, of course, he had removed the scarlet and gold scrap off wool from his mouth.

It seemed the little sleep Harry had squeezed in had done nothing to rejuvenate him. The day passed in the same lingering haze of pain and exhaustion as the previous had, so that by the time his much-needed Occlumency lesson rolled around, he could more easily have performed a twelve-act opera than kept Snape from invading his mind.

Mindful of Snape's rather anal attitude on the definition of 'punctual', Harry went to the kitchen at four-fifty. The Potions Master was already there, though judging by his stance, it was most definitely through no choice of his own.

"Sit," he instructed, though he himself remained standing, perhaps to tower over the teenager in hopes of intimidating him.

"I want you to understand, Potter, that although the Headmaster has deemed it necessary that I instruct you in Occlumency once more, I have not forgotten how our last session ended. Nothing has changed."

Harry burned with anger, itching to point out that he'd apologised, aching to call Snape every foul name that flitted across his brain. Somehow, even through his severely sleep-deprived brain functions, he was able to resist making a comeback.

Suddenly, Snape rose. "Now, Potter, let's see if your 'summer practising' has paid off."

xXxXxXxXxXx

A/N: Whew! What a whopper of a chapter—honestly, here I was thinking it would be your average ten-pager and it's almost double that. I've written longer, but this one seemed REALLY stretched out. I apologize for the delay, but I was out of town for two weeks and school just started again for me and believe me, I've been exhausted with busy-ness.

Please, Please, PLEASE, to all you wonderful readers, if you have a feasible idea of how the O.W.L's might be graded, e-mail me or give me a review to let me know. (My email is on my author profile). I really want to slip that into Chapter 3, but I can't if I don't know how to grade them.

Thank you for your supreme patience and please continue with your glowing reviews...ï 


	3. People Ain't No Good

Harry Potter and the Rise of War: Chapter 3 

Disclaimer: I own nothing except a cow Halloween costume and my own very battered set of the Harry Potter books, and they are in pretty sorry shape. Oh, and then there's the World Book Volume So-Sz that's not really mine, but currently in residence on my desk shelf. You might be able to snatch it if you come quickly. It's from 1986, so you'll be hard-pressed to find anything that is accurate.

See chapter one for summary and warnings.

A/N: PLEASE READ!! Well, this chapter would be out much earlier except that my floppy (don't laugh, I AM one of those losers who still uses floppies) plopped out and there went Chapter 3. It really sucks because I had just rounded off the ending. That's okay, though, it gives me a chance to re-vamp the chapter. For some reason, the next chapter of "Suffering" was unscathed. Yes, there IS another chapter to "Suffering", I haven't abandoned it. You lucky readers.

What else can I say for the long wait? I'm so sorry. I've been extremely busy, thanks to my slave-driver teachers, band, choir, and school musical. Stuff's been kinda hectic.

Anyhow, please leave suggestions in reviews, especially for THE BEST WAY TO SCORE O.W.Ls! I've seen several interesting methods. Thank you, of course, to those who did review the previous two chapters. Constructive criticism is always accepted.

xXxXxXxXxXx

"Leglimens!"

Snape shouted the spell before Harry was able to get his bearings. Immediately, a chain of images began to flash through his mind in rapid succession…

…Harry tossed in his cupboard, running a hand over his bald scalp and unable to sleep as he imagined how he would be treated the next day…

'That's enough,' thought Harry, trying to push out Snape's invading presence without letting his guard down enough to reveal less shallow memories.

Various bits of memory continued streaming through Harry's mind, evidence of the Potions Master's Leglimens, but they became dimmer and indistinct. After a few more moments, the spell stopped altogether.

Glad to be in reality once more, he took a deep breath, trying to slow the adrenaline pumping through his veins. Snape surveyed him distastefully and said, "Though you were able to stop me eventually, you allowed me to catch you off your guard and invade your mind. You must protect your memories at all times."

Harry was indignant. He'd made progress over the summer! More than he'd ever made under Snape's tutelage, in fact. Of course, the day the greasy git admitted that Harry had done well would be the same day that Lord Voldemort was spotted wearing bunny slippers.

"Again," said Snape, raising his wand.

Harry emptied his mind—

"Leglimens!"

The instant a memory surfaced, Harry felt an overwhelming panic. There was only one experience he could be reliving. Too caught up to continue attempting to use Occlumency, he watched in raw grief as Sirius's death replayed before his eyes. He heard his own anguished screams and frantic cries echoing inside his head…

Snape must've released the spell, because Harry found himself kneeling on the stone floor. Much to his horror, his eyes were watering. Quickly, not wanting his cruel teacher to see, he wiped his eyes under the pretext of pushing his hair away from his face.

Trying to retain at least a fraction of his dignity, he hopped to his feet and squared his shoulders. "Let's go again." His hands were trembling slightly.

An unfathomable expression crossed the sour professor's face. Harry was sure the man was going to mock him, but when he spoke it was with his classic disdainful tone, though slightly emptier than usual. "Potter, do not presume to direct these lessons. We will not go again until you are in control of your emotions."

Harry took several deep breaths, forcing the guilt and pain out of his mind.

"Again," he said quietly.

"Leglimens!"

Harry did his best to keep his mind clear, remembering the way he resisted the Imperius Curse, but his exhaustion and lingering pain from the memories made focusing much harder than usual…

…He shouted into a mall mirror. "Sirius Black!" Nothing happened, and he threw the mirror into his trunk where it shattered…

…He sat in Umbridge's sickeningly frilly office, writing 'I must not tell lies' in shining red letters while the words carved themselves deeper and deeper into his hand…

…He raged and ranted at Dumbledore as he threw things about the office…

Snape released the spell again. "What was that, Potter?"

"The one where I was…arguing…with Professor Dumbledore?"

He sneered. "No. The one where you were writing lines for Delores Umbridge."

Harry shrugged, not understanding its importance. "I had a lot of detentions with her last year. That was one of them."

The sneer transfigured into a snarl. The Potions Master's eyes lingered on his hand, where the words were still visible on Harry's skin.

"That's enough for tonight. It's clear to me that there is nothing else to gain from tonight's session. Practice Occlumency tonight and meet me here again tomorrow."

Harry wasn't sure he'd heard right. Snape had spoken to him in an almost civil tone. Eventually, he managed to stutter, "A-alright, then…" before leaving the room as quickly as possible.

Five minutes later, Harry had stumbled back up to his bedroom. He collapsed onto the bed, covering his face with his hands. It hurt, reliving that June night, more than he'd ever thought it could. Seeing Sirius fall once more, hearing his own raw screams…it was too much to bear.

Two hours later, after the Order meeting was over, Harry had scarcely moved from his spot. He heard Ron enter the room in his usual noisy fashion.

"Hey mate. Was the Occlumency lesson that bad?"

"How'd you guess?" Harry couldn't help but remark a little dryly.

"By the way, did the two of you have a shouting match or something?"

"No. Why?"

"I passed Snape in the hall and he seems to be even angrier than usual…you do tend to put him in a foul mood."

Harry shrugged, allowing himself a tiny grin.

"Anyway, I came up to tell you that it's dinnertime. You look like you could use some sleep, but I don't think Mum's going to let you skip any meals. She keeps going on about how thin you are."

Slowly, Harry pulled himself to his feet and stretched before following Ron downstairs for dinner.

xXxXxXxXxXx

Severus sighed in exasperation. If he had to listen to one more word of Molly Weasley's fretting over the Potter boy's state…he wouldn't be held responsible for his actions. A good two-thirds of these meetings were, in his opinion, a complete waste of time.

He dreamily pondered what potion he would use to pickle Mundungus Fletcher once he had killed him. The drunken idiot was currently on the receiving end of a stern lecture from Molly Weasley for trying to smuggle some stolen good or another into the house. Dumbledore cleared his throat just loudly enough to jerk Snape out of his fantasies.

"Ahem. I think we are done for the night." Quickly, before the man could disappear to Merlin only knew where, Snape interjected. "Albus, a word?"

Mentally kicking himself as the aged professor nodded and waited for the others to trickle out of the room, the Potions Master wondered once more why he was requesting this brief chat. Clearly Potter wasn't suffering from his detentions with Umbridge, and he certainly was not concerned for the boy.

"Albus, are you aware of the nature of the detentions Delores Umbridge gave to the Gryffindor students?"

He could feel the man's amusement from across the room. "I believe she made them write lines. Is there any certain Gryffindor student that you are referring to?"

"Absolutely not." Snape's tone was about as yielding as a brick wall. "So you know no further details of these detentions?"

"Were it any other teacher, I would, due to the possible risks of allowing a single student to spend time with a single staff member unsupervised. Unfortunately, Cornelius Fudge gave Delores Umbridge higher authority than I have myself in some issues."

"Normally, I would not be troubled over a situation such as this, but I uncovered a rather disturbing memory during the Occlumency lessons with Potter."

"Please Severus, it's Harry or at the very least, Mr. Potter. If he is to respect you, it must be mutual."

He snorted. He severely doubted that the Boy-Who-Lived even knew the meaning of respect. "Shall I go on?"

"Please."

"Very well. As I was saying, I witnessed one of Potter's detentions with the woman during today's Occlumency lesson, due to his inability to protect his mind even from a filtered version of Leglimency. I do believe there may be sufficient evidence to, at the very least, have her position discredited and keep Fudge from trying to make any more of his own appointments."

"How?"

"Take a good look at—" he paused, sneering slightly—"_Mr._ Potter's right hand the next time you see him."

xXxXxXxXxXx

It was a night about a week before Harry's sixteenth birthday that Mrs. Weasley brought the fact to his attention. Tired and drawn, he was staring into his plate of chops blearily, unable to concentrate on the conversation around him. His nightmares, despite the slight improvement in his Occlumency, had been continuing, though they were tending to occur less frequently—he had actually gotten a few full nights of sleep. Due to the circumstances, he decided not to tell and simply continued muffling his screams.

He was so preoccupied and tired that at first he didn't notice when Mrs. Weasley spoke to him.

"Harry, dear, did you hear me?"

"Sorry?"

"I asked what kind of cake you want for your birthday."

"Ca—oh, no, you don't have to, Mrs. Weasley, I don't need a cake…"

"Nonsense, dear. Of course you need a cake. Do you like chocolate?"

"Ch—chocolate's fine I guess."

"Who do you want to invite to the party?"

"Party? I—"

"We'll have to do something about security, of course, but it can all be arranged…"

"No, Mrs. Weasley, that's—that's all right, I don't need a party, I've never really celebrated my birthday…my relatives aren't big on birthdays."

The woman's eyes narrowed at the reference to the Dursleys, and she glared at the slight ghost of a scratch under his eye. "It's your sixteenth birthday. Don't you want to do anything special?"

"It's special enough that I'm not at the Dursleys'."

"But Harry—"

"Drop it, mum," said Ron quietly Harry tossed him a grateful smile.

Not long after, Harry excused himself and retreated up to bed. When Ron came up later, Harry grinned at him and said, "Thanks for that."

Ron shrugged. "Mum means well, she just doesn't understand. Honestly mate, sometimes _I_ don't understand you all that well."

Harry frowned at him. Ron shrugged again and began changing into his pajamas.

That night, Harry's dream was so painful that when he finally woke, his sheets were completely drenched it a cold sweat. He felt nauseous, as though his insides were tied in knots, and he trembled from pain. Carefully, ever so slowly, he left the room and went down to the kitchen.

It was as though all of the finally fading aches had been reawakened at once. The pain, which usually faded to an ever-present throb a few minutes after waking, seemed almost to intensify with every passing moment.

As he reached the kitchen door, his scar gave another great throb. He clapped his hand to his forehead at precisely the same moment that he half fell through the door, gasping for breath.

Staggering slightly, he groped around blindly for a chair to sink into. Closing his eyes, he took several deep breaths in an attempt to stop his trembling.

"Harry?" Remus's voice startled him so badly that he nearly fell out of his chair as he had his first night there.

"Re-Remus?" he gasped. Lupin was standing near the glowing embers of the fireplace. "What—what're you doing…at this time….of night?" He spoke very slowly, taking deep gulps of air with every few words.

"I always have a hard time sleeping this close to the full moon. You, on the other hand, should be in bed."

"I already did, but I had a nightmare."

"Nightmare, or vision?" Remus's voice was concerned.

"V-vision." He wished his hands would stop trembling.

"I thought you stopped having those! I though the Occlumency helped. You never mentioned that they've been continuing."

"No one ever asked…the Occlumency…doesn't seem to be…effective." He buried his face in his arms.

"Why are you out of breath?"

Harry attempted to respond, but was able only to make rasping noises through his clenched teeth.

"Harry? Harry!" Lupin shook his shoulders gently, but even the slight motion caused him to reel in pain. "Are you alright?" Harry's former professor sounded uncharacteristically anxious.

"Fine…" he whispered, sitting up again and biting his lip in pain.

"Was it—it's the same sort of visions as before?"

Harry nodded. "I haven't been having them as often, though." He was finally regaining his ability to speak in full sentences, it seemed.

"Would you like some tea?" Remus offered him a cup, which he gratefully accepted.

The pair of them sat in companionable silence for awhile, gazing into separate directions and sipping their hot tea. After a stretch, Remus spoke up again.

"You know that Dumbledore will need to know that you're still having these dreams."

Harry nodded dispiritedly, not looking forward to that particular conversation.

"So what are we going to do for the night, Harry?"

He looked up at him and shrugged. "I don't want to go back to sleep," he whispered.

The lycanthrope frowned. "Just how much have you been sleeping?"

"Enough."

"I really think you should go to bed."

"I won't stay asleep."

"Then I'll stay and keep you company. Merlin knows this house is desolate enough without having to stay up by yourself in the dead of night."

"No, you need to go get some rest, professor." Harry had seen how draining the full moon was on Lupin, even when he took the Wolfsbane Potion.

Remus smiled and gave a dry laugh. "How many times do I have to tell you, Harry? I'm not your professor anymore. And I'm used to this. Its only once a month. You're getting to be as bad as Sirius."

Harry's throat went dry. The words came like a swift punch in the gut—a sensation that he was all too familiar with after fifteen years with the Dursleys. So far, people had avoided mentioning his late godfather to him. He was pretty sure that he would've started trembling if he weren't already. He closed his eyes tightly, not wanting the older man to see his weakness.

"It's alright to grieve."

"No, it's not." In a voice so quiet that he didn't even know if Lupin could hear him, he added, "Not for me."

xXxXxXxXxXx

All that morning, Harry hoped and prayed that Dumbledore wouldn't show up for dinner, and maybe Remus would just forget about the earlier conversation. After lunch, he was given something else to worry about, as Mrs. Weasley enlisted the help of all the children in cleaning out one last foul bedroom she'd discovered.

Harry remembered with a jolt, however, when he entered the kitchen to see the Headmaster sitting at the scrubbed table. He was rather puzzled by the suddenly frequent visits the man was making; surely he was busier than last summer, when Harry'd seen him only once, during the trial. About halfway through dinner, though, the aged man's motives became clear.

"Harry, Hermione, Ron," he said, blue eyes twinkling, "you'd be getting these in the mail in a few days anyway, but I rather wanted to give them to the three of you in person. Congratulations."

He held out three very official-looking envelopes bearing the Ministry seal and the Hogwarts crest.

Hermione looked positively beside herself with excitement as she received her letter. "Can we open them now?"

"No, Hermione," said Ron immediately. "Not in the middle of dinner. You'll make me lose my appetite!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, and Mrs. Weasley shot her youngest son a rather harried glance as the rest of the adults snorted.

At the end of the meal, Harry stood up to leave with the others, but Remus grabbed his arm and held him back.

"Albus, I think Harry needs to speak with you."

Harry made a face but sat down again, waiting for the room to clear of all but Dumbledore, Lupin, and he. As he waited, he came to the conclusion that he was having far too many private meetings with the Headmaster.

"Harry, is something on your mind?"

Harry decided to play dumb. "No, not really." Lupin cleared his throat and Harry threw him an ill-tempered glance. The older man stared him down.

"I can always tell him if you'd rather not, Harry."

He groaned, doing his best to stifle the urge to throw himself on the ground and scream. "Fine. The thing—" he cleared his throat, stalling desperately—"the thing is, I-I've been…I'm still having visions once in a while. The Occlumency hasn't stopped them."

Dumbledore looked slightly vexed. "These visions are still violent?"

Harry nodded numbly.

"I suppose it does stand to reason that Occlumency is ineffective in combating these visions, since it doesn't appear that they are being put there. Indeed, I do not believe that any of the Death Eaters are aware that you can see these things happen."

Harry didn't have to ask where the headmaster got his information.

"Do—d'you know why I can see these things if Voldemort isn't there? I mean, I thought my connection through my scar was only to him." Harry was horrified that he might somehow be connected to each Death Eater.

"Well, I suppose it is conceivable that you have a connection to every branded Death Eater, since the Dark Mark brand that they share is a unique magic to Tom Riddle. I can only theorize, however. More pressing at the time is how to keep the pain these visions cause at bay. What have you been doing to keep the pain bearable?"

"Erm…nothing, really. Sleeping as little as possible, I guess."

"That method isn't proving very effective for you, Harry," cut in Lupin. "You look like you're about to collapse.

"I'm fine."

"You didn't look fine when you stumbled into the kitchen this morning!"

Dumbledore spoke before Harry could protest. "This morning?"

"He came staggering into the kitchen at about half-past two this morning, looking awful."

"It's not that bad!" Harry's protests sounded feeble even to his own ears.

"You didn't see yourself!" said Remus sharply. "Albus,. He was pale as a sheet and shaking like mad. He could hardly stay on his feet long enough to get to a chair."

"Why are you making this into a bigger deal than it really is?" Harry groaned in frustration, feeling anger swelling up in his chest.

"Because it is a big deal. Why don't you realize that? You can't keep trying to solve problems on your own like this."

Dumbledore stopped Harry from responding. "We will discuss this later. There is something I would like to ask you about, if it is okay with you, Harry."

He shrugged in consent.

"May I please take a look at the back of your right hand?"

Harry paused, taken aback.

"Harry?"

"Yeah," he sighed and stretched his arm out.

The headmaster took his hand and inspected it for a long moment. Harry couldn't help but feel a thrill of apprehension. What if the headmaster was angry for all the times Harry's gotten himself detention.

When Dumbledore finally set Harry's hand down, he asked quietly, "How did you get those scars on your hand?"

How had he known? For a minute Harry sat dumbstruck, until it became obvious. Snape. Snape, for some incomprehensible reason, had told the Headmaster.

"I…" he shifted guiltily and looked at his feet. "Detention with Umbridge."

"I was told she made students write lines." The headmaster remained as collected as ever. Remus, on the other hand, looked confused bordering on angry.

"Well, lines of a sort…" he muttered heatedly. "with a rather unique quill…"

Remus blanched. "May I please see your hand, Harry?"

He extended his hand once more. Remus took hold of his wrist and looked at the words for an even longer period than Dumbledore had. He let go of Harry's hand an instant later and said angrily, "Why didn't you tell someone?"

"I told Ron and Hermione!" he said indignantly. "Well, they found out more than me telling them, but—"

"I meant someone in a position of authority to stop her," Lupin said, exasperated.

"What good would it have done? It would have taken about an hour for her and Fudge to pass some new educational decree that said anyone who opposed Umbridge's methods was out."

"It's not your job to worry about that."

He made a face. "Why? Because I'm not old enough? I don't think age has been much of a deciding factor in any of my other responsibilities, Remus."

The headmaster said calmly, "Remus did have a point earlier, Harry. You don't seem to think you need to trouble adults with your problems."

"Do I?"

"That's what we're here for," said Remus through clenched teeth.

"Well sorry, I've never really had an adult to trust. No one ever checked up on me before Hogwarts, and somehow I managed just fine!"

"I don't understand, Harry." Dumbledore spoke with a cool sort of calmness that made Harry suspect there was a great deal of anger rippling beneath his benign surface.

"The Dursleys weren't exactly supportive, you know. You've met them! I had to learn to depend on myself when I lived with them and no one gave a damn to come check, and now you're all upset by it!"

Remus gave a snarl in frustration, alarming Harry enough that he took several steps backward. "Of course. Look, Harry, things aren't supposed to be the way they were there."

"Well there was no one there to tell me that! I stopped trusting adults when I was five and realized that children aren't supposed to sleep in cupboards! You act like that's my fault."

Harry stormed from the room, oblivious to the several small explosions that followed in his wake.

He retreated to the drawing room in hopes that Ron would be in bed and he would be able to get a little quiet time. Opening the door, however, he stumbled upon not only Ron, but Hermione as well. The two were sitting far closer together than he'd ever seen them.

"Harry!" Hermione squeaked in surprise, attempting to put as much distance as possible between herself and the lanky redhead in a very short span of time. Harry mentally berated himself for walking in on the two right when their relationship finally seemed to be going somewhere and made a note to knock in the future.

"Hello," he said brightly, hiding his foul mood behind a false smile. "I didn't expect you two to be in here." The two fidgeted nervously, and Harry feigned ignorance.

Hermione recovered first. "We were just about to look at our O.W.L. results. Why don't you come look at yours with us?"

Harry shook his head, ignoring the slight hurt he felt that they'd do it without them. "Too tired," he lied. "You two go ahead, I can wait until tomorrow to look at mine."

Hermione looked him up and down, trying to discern why he showed no enthusiasm at seeing his results. He bade them a falsely cheery good-night and retreated up to his bedroom.

In all honesty, Harry found that he didn't care about the results. All they would do, he figured, was crush his dreams of becoming an Auror, as there was no way he would've made N.E.W.T. Potions (though he wasn't sure he wanted to work for anything even remotely involving the Ministry any more). He didn't really want to be reminded that he was facing the prospect of another reunion with Draco Malfoy, the constant stares, and, worst of all, a year without Sirius there to help him.

xXxXxXxXxXx

That night, rather than having a vision, Harry found himself in the throes of a nightmare he hadn't had in ages. Uncle Vernon was there, calling him worthless and beating the stuffing out of him as usual, but this time there were others there jeering at him for his failures. Others from the wizarding world.

When he woke, sweating and shaking as usual, he felt an ache completely unconnected to his visions, and he wasn't sure if he might not just prefer the Cruciatus over this kind of pain.

He shivered. He'd never had that particular dream, and hadn't had a dream where he feared his uncle in a very long time. He supposed his earlier outburst that had triggered some repressed memories. He was beginning to experience stirrings of shame for said outburst. He vaguely recalled making a comment about sleeping in a cupboard—he sincerely hoped that no one had picked up on it.

With a deep sigh, he turned over onto his stomach and settled into an uneasy, but thankfully Crucio-free sleep.

xXxXxXxXxXx

The next day, Harry woke feeling rested, but his mood dampened considerably when he remembered the previous day's conversation. There would be consequences for his explosion; he knew it was too much to hope for that Remus might have forgotten the cupboard comment.

It wasn't early, judging by the quality of the sunlight filtering onto the meager carpet, but Ron was still fast asleep. Harry rose from his bed and quickly dressed before going down to the kitchen where Mrs. Weasley had started on breakfast.

"Sleep well, Harry?"

He nodded, trying to work out the stiff muscles in his neck. A moment later, he froze as Remus appeared in the doorway.

"Harry—"

"I'm sorry I shouted at you yesterday, Professor," he said quietly, studying his feet.

Lupin touched his shoulder lightly. Not wanting to be rude, Harry didn't move away, though he was rather uncomfortable.

"I don't know what to say, Harry. We—we didn't know."

Harry's voice came out a bit strangled. "Know what?"

"About your, ah…living conditions before Hogwarts."

He could feel his face burning in humiliation. So they _had_ caught that. "It doesn't matter anymore," he said firmly, though he thought bitterly to himself that they might have done a bit more research, since they were supposed to care about him so much.

Remus looked like he very much wanted to argue, but didn't want to cause a repeat of the previous night's scene.

"How did you sleep?"

"Pretty well, actually." Aside from the nightmare about his uncle, of course.

Lupin looked a bit doubtful.

"Really, Prof—er, Remus. No visions or anything."

The older man sized him up, as if trying to determine whether or not Harry was telling the truth.

A moment later, there was a loud thud from the hallway, followed by cursing.

"Ah," he sighed. "Tonks is awake."

Sure enough, the Metamorphmagus entered, rubbing her arm and grimacing. "I've got to stop falling down stairs," she moaned.

She grinned brightly when she saw him. "Wotcher, Harry. Taken a look at your O.W.L. results yet?"

"Erm, no, not yet…" He shifted guiltily.

"Why not? I was sure you'd be tearing them open the minute you got them."

He threw on a bright smile and said easily, "I was too tired last night. I forgot all about them, actually. I figured they'd be easier to handle on an empty stomach anyway."

"A bit nervous?"

"You might say that." It wasn't _really _a lie.

"Well why don't you go get them now and take a look at them?"

"I'd really rather not, if that's ok."

Remus rose and said sharply. "Will you come with me for a moment, Harry?"

He stood and followed the man out of the room, perplexed by Lupin's scowl. He was a little hesitant, for he had never seen him look quite so frustrated.

"Remus?" He questioned after they left the kitchen.

"You can't keep doing this."

"I don't understand." That was a lie. It was perfectly obvious, of course. Lupin, with his damnable perceptiveness, had figured out just what was bothering Harry.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, Harry. You're giving up!"

"I don't see what the big deal is! I'll look at the stupid test results if that's what you want!" Harry protested snappishly, but he felt a tug in his chest that had nothing to do with anger. He began to shake slightly.

"Sirius wouldn't have wanted you to become like this!"

Harry felt like he'd been slapped in the face. "What am I supposed to do?" He meant to sound forceful, but his voice failed so that he ended up whispering. "Act like everything's great? Cause that's what I've been trying to do!"

Remus had opened his mouth to respond, but he snapped it shut abruptly as he caught Harry's words. He suddenly looked very sad.

"No, Harry, you're not supposed to pretend everything's great. You need to talk to someone."

There was a long moment of silence. He didn't know quite how to put his feelings into words, so he finally settled for whispering, "I can't."

Lupin seemed to understand that there was more to Harry's speech than just the words that had come out of his mouth, because he suddenly gave him a rough hug. It wasn't a comforting hug like Mrs. Weasley had given him after the third task, nor did it have the familiar half-friendly-half-fatherly quality that Sirius's occasional hug did. It was an embrace of shared grief and complete understanding. Harry felt the dull ache in his chest grow when he realized that his godfather's death was what brought them so close.

xXxXxXxXxXxXx

A/N 2: Well, I am frankly less than pleased with this chapter, but I figured I ought to get one out. Please, please, please, please, please let me know if you know a plausible, workable way for grading O.W.Ls, and also, please feel free to pop in any ideas you may have for this story. cough cough review cough cough


	4. For Lack of a Better Title

Harry Potter and the Rise of War: Chapter 4 

Disclaimer: I, in no way, own or take credit for Harry Potter and co. Wish I could, but can't. Don't sue.

Warning and summary: See Ch. 1

I'm throwing a shout-out to Kara, who graciously performed as beta for this chapter. Perhaps chapters will start coming with a little more frequency now. Thanks, Kara!

After breakfast, Harry retrieved his O.W.L results, more to appease Remus than because he actually wanted to see them. Indeed, he was rather dreading the moment he saw the product of so many hours put into studying. He went to the drawing room and settled on the musty couch next to the older man.

"Well?"

Harry stared at the thick envelope in his hand. He was almost afraid to open it, lest its contents crush his Auror dreams. He shook himself. Death Eaters and Voldemort he could handle, but the stupid test scores terrified him. He went to rip the post open and get it over with, but Remus stopped him.

"Careful. A lot of parents like to frame their children's O.W.L. scores."

"Assuming they do well, of course." Harry gave a shallow laugh, gesturing to the package. "I really don't see the Dursleys displaying this for all the neighbours to see, if that's what you're worried about."

Lupin looked as though there was something he was stopping himself from saying. He sighed. "Be careful, anyway, just to humour me."

Harry shrugged and pulled open the envelope with a bit more caution then before. Several sheets of parchment fell into his lap. The top of the stack was a standard letter, no doubt copied hundreds and hundreds of times throughout the years to slide into the O.W.L. results of hordes of students.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_Congratulations on completing your O.W.Ls. These tests are an important benchmark in your academic career within the Wizarding World. The enclosed results will have a tremendous impact on the rest of your years at school and should be considered when deciding which N.E.W.T. classes to take. _

_Enjoy your summer. _

The scrawled signatures of the examiners followed.

Harry set the letter aside with a sigh. 'Enjoy your summer,' indeed. With a gulp, he unfolded the next document.

_O.W.L. Results for Potter, Harry James_

_Astronomy: Theory: Acceptable_

_Practical: Poor_

_Care of Magical Creatures: No Theory_

_Practical: Outstanding_

_Charms: Theory: Exceeds Expectations_

_Practical: Exceeds Expectations_

_Defence Against the Dark Arts: Theory: Outstanding_

_Practical: Above Outstanding_

_Divination: No Theory_

_Practical: Poor_

_Herbology: Theory: Acceptable_

_Practical: Exceeds Expectations_

_History of Magic: Theory: Poor_

_No Practical_

_Potions: Theory: Outstanding_

_Practical: Outstanding_

_Transfiguration: Theory: Exceeds Expectations_

_Practical: Outstanding_

_Please note that a score of 'Above Outstanding' indicates the highest score in a class and merits 1 extra O.W.L._

Harry set the results down, completely gob smacked. He had certainly done better than he had expected. 9 O.W.Ls! It looked at though he might yet be able to become an Auror. He hadn't the faintest idea how he'd managed to get "Outstanding" on both portions of his Potions exam, but the surprise was a welcomed one.

He wordlessly handed the sheet to Remus, who scanned it quickly and grinned.

"Well done, Harry!"

"I can't believe I got into N.E.W.T. level potions…" he trailed off, still in shock.

"And you got the highest score in your class in Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"That's thanks to you, _Professor_," he jibed lightly. "Seeing as I got a bonus point for the Patronus that _you_ taught me to conjure."

Remus smiled and ruffled his hair fondly.

"Don't!" Harry laughed, trying to brush off his hands. When the older man finally stopped, he glared. "My hair's quite messy enough without your help, thank you!"

Lupin's reply was cut off by an almighty bang from the kitchen. The two of them heard Moody bellow "Damn it, Tonks!" and, the next moment, someone could be heard scrambling up the stairs.

Someone who looked very much like Alastor Moody but most certainly couldn't be burst into the room in a very uncharacteristic manner. He slammed the door behind him and leaned against it, breathing heavily.

Harry, acting on instinct, had his wand drawn and a curse on his lips before he realised who the impostor was.

"Tonks?"

The grizzled ex-Auror morphed into the form of a much younger Tonks. "Never…" she panted, "try to play…a practical joke on Mad-Eye…especially in the morning."

"What did you do?" asked Harry, trying and failing to stifle his laughter.

"Let's just say that he really, really doesn't take kindly to being impersonated."

Remus and Harry chuckled heartily.

Several days later, Harry stumbled into the kitchen far earlier than he would've liked. His slumber, thankfully, had been pain-free, although not altogether undisturbed. He'd risen just barely after the sun and could not fall back asleep, which seemed like a horrible waste of a summer morning that could've been otherwise spent in laziness.

So, bleary-eyed and tousle-haired, he wandered down for an early breakfast while still in his pyjamas. He was surprised to find the room darkened and began to feel rather nervous, clutching his wand from the waistband of his flannel pants. There was always _someone _awake at this hour, if not several someones.

"Surprise!"

"Aah!"

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin as all the lights came on at once and every resident of Grimmuald Place appeared, along with Dumbledore. He very nearly threw a Stunner before realising what was going on. Ron and Hermione grinned cheekily at him. Harry gave himself a mental kick. He hadn't even noticed that Ron wasn't in bed.

Moody looked at him appraisingly. "Constant vigilance, Potter!"

"So, did we surprise you, Harry?" Hermione asked innocently as everyone finally stopped chuckling at the apparent look of horror on his face.

"Just a little," he muttered sarcastically, deciding not to mention that he'd completely forgotten what day it was.

"Sit down and have some breakfast, everyone," said Mrs. Weasley as she set out several steaming plates of food. She appeared to have gone all out for this particular breakfast, Harry thought, considering that the table was actually creaking under the weight of all the food.

Tonks sat down across the table from him, next to Hermione. Harry started again when he got a good look at her.

"Er…Tonks? Are you—are you wearing a _nose ring?_"

She nodded enthusiastically, the movement causing the metallic-looking spikes that her hair had formed to sway a bit.

"Okay," he said simply, staring at her bizarre new look for a few seconds before inquiring again. "Why?"

"It's fun to mix things up sometimes," she said casually. "Besides, it drives my mother insane."

He snorted into his pumpkin juice.

It was by far the best birthday that Harry'd ever had. Getting cards and parcels in the mail was all well and good, but never on his birthday had he been with so many people who actually liked him. He found it rather refreshing.

That night after Occlumency (Harry was not so naïve as to presume that Professor Snape would let him go for a trifle such as his birthday), Harry sat at the kitchen table surrounded by the same group as that morning and several additional Order members as well. The smell of Mrs. Weasley's cooking had apparently been even more aromatic than usual, causing people who wouldn't normally stay for dinner to linger. The entire Weasley clan, other than Percy (no one had mentioned him since Harry's return to headquarters, and he briefly wondered what had happened) was there, Charlie had even somehow managed to come from Romania. Snape stayed also, and Harry hoped the man wouldn't make any scathing comments.

After a delicious dinner of colossal proportions, Mrs. Weasley brought out a large and rich-looking cake that said 'Happy Birthday, Harry' in red and golden frosting. A charmed frosted Quidditch player zoomed around the perimeters of the cake, chasing a Snitch.

"Wow, Mrs. Weasley," he said in awe.

The plump woman smiled fondly at him and began setting candles on the cake.

Soon, the room was lit only by the flames, which danced and floated above the sugary confection. Not entirely sure how the process worked, Harry waited to see what happened next. He was a bit surprised when Dumbledore began singing in a deep, rolling voice, and others immediately joined in.

Harry couldn't remember the Dursleys ever singing, even to Dudley, but perhaps his porky cousin had always simply been too eager to get to his cake to meddle with such trivialities. He felt a great sense of contentment as he watched the flickering light of the candles illuminating his friends' faces.

The song ended with Fred and George making an interesting variety of noises which Harry wasn't sure belonged in the tune, and Harry stared at the candles for a moment, not sure what to do.

Remus nudged him. "Make a wish," he said.

"Er—sorry?"

"You're supposed to blow out the candles and make a wish."

He noticed that Snape was watching the conversation with knitted eyebrows, but ignored it.

Hesitantly, he took a breath and blew on the candles.

_I hope that somewhere, Sirius and Mum and Dad are together and can see me. _

It wasn't a wish per se, but Harry wanted it more than anything. He grinned as every candle was extinguished and the lights came back on.

Mr. Weasley, who was closest, began slicing the cake, though the Quidditch player gave him some difficulty. The assembled guests laughed for a few minutes as Mr. Weasley scratched his chin and struggled to cut the pieces evenly. Eventually, he settled for cutting an enormous piece around the edge of the figure. Mrs. Weasley immediately passed it to Harry, who eyed it apprehensively.

"Thanks Mrs. Weasley, but I couldn't possibly—"

"Nonsense. Eat up, you're much too thin."

He already felt as though he might explode, but quailed under the woman's watchful eye and, with some difficulty, ate the entire piece.

He hoped, after finishing of the cake (he could now scarcely move his limbs), that he might be able to slip away, but Remus stopped him at the door. The next thing Harry knew, he was being bodily lifted into the air and carried up the stairs to the drawing room. His face reddened as he was tossed ceremoniously onto the couch by a throng of redheads.

He half-heartedly attempted to make a run for it, but Ginny promptly noticed his bid for freedom and plopped onto his chest, pinning him to the couch on his back. He felt his face redden still more.

"You're about to learn what Weasley birthdays are like," she said smugly.

"Geroff me!" he panted. His chest was starting to hurt.

"Promise you won't try to run away again?"

Harry muttered something under his breath.

"Sorry, didn't catch that," she said, crossing her legs.

"Fine," he groaned.

She slid off of Harry's chest.

"There's a good lad, Harry," said one of the twins, cuffing him about the shoulders. "You can't escape us redheads."

Finally Remus 'ahem'ed and Harry noticed a large pile of presents before him.

"Wow," he said, slightly overwhelmed by the sudden attention being paid to his birthday.

He opened Ron's present first, and received a book entitled _Great International Quidditch Teams._

"A book? All that time with Hermione rubbing off on you, Ron?" he joked.

Much to his bewilderment, Ron's ears went rather red, as he sputtered in protest.

"No, Ron, I really like it. Thanks."

Looking relieved, Ron grinned. "I figured it was about time you picked a team. This book's got better information on teams than _Quidditch Through the Ages_."

Hermione's gift was a book as well, though this came as no surprise to Harry. She'd given him a thick but interesting-looking tome entitled _So You Want to Become an Auror. _According to the back cover, it included an N.E.W.T. study guide for Auror-recommended subjects, interviews, and a list of 101 must-know spells.

"Wow, Hermione," he breathed.

"Professor McGonagall recommended it when I said I wanted to get you an Auror book."

Harry made a mental note to thank her.

He also received a box full of pranks from the twins that were, according to George, "the newest prototypes for their first, best, and only investor". Harry assumed that 'newest prototypes' meant the products were untested and perhaps slightly toxic, but laughed all the same.

Mrs. Weasley had, of course, knitted him a sweater. He thanked her politely and sincerely—the Weasley jumpers he got were among the few articles of Muggle-style clothing that he owned which fit him decently.

Dumbledore's gift to him was quite heavy; he nearly dropped upon picking it up. Giving the older man a questioning look, Harry slowly pulled off the wrapping paper, which was midnight blue and enchanted with silver dancing stars.

He gasped. Dumbledore had given him a large stone basin, decorated with runes.

"A Pensieve?"

"I felt it to be appropriate. I have included instructions on how to use it."

Harry stopped. "This isn't yours, is it? I mean, I don't want you giving up your Pensieve for me."

"No. Some dear friends gave me this many years ago for safekeeping, and I feel that they would want you to make use of it."

"Wow. Thank you, Professor. I—wait, there are already some memories in here-" He had just looked down to inspect the bowl a bit more and seen a shallow layer of silver memories.

Dumbledore looked at him serenely. "The previous owners left a few of their own memories in here. You might appreciate seeing them." Harry stared at him, lost for words. Did he mean what Harry thought?

"Thanks very much," he said quietly, thoroughly flabbergasted. The man's eyes twinkled slightly.

Remus gave him his package last, a small and plainly wrapped parcel. He tore off the paper and lifted the box's lid with shaky fingers. He stared.

Somehow, someone had taken a picture of Harry and Sirius together. They were decorating the hall with the shrunken elf heads (which had been removed, to Harry's immense relief). Sirius was standing on a ladder, stringing lights and garland from the ceiling as Harry handed the strands to him. It was a wizard photo, so the figures moved, and he could see the two of them singing his godfather's improvised Christmas Carols at the top of their lungs.

Harry had no idea that anyone had taken a picture of him and Sirius, and briefly wondered if Lupin had been the one behind the camera before deciding it didn't really matter. He noticed that the photo's handsome frame seemed to twinkle a bit.

"It has a preservation charm on it," said the werewolf quietly. "As long as the photo stays in that frame, it won't age."

Harry stuttered his thanks, feeling rather emotional.

Finally, many hours later, the Weasleys let Harry go to bed. Bill, Charlie, and the twins had been quite keen on the idea of getting him drunk on Firewhiskey, but Mrs. Weasley and Remus had quickly put a stop to it. He couldn't decide if he was relieved or disappointed—Firewhiskey might've ensured he got a little rest, if nothing else.

Harry stared at the ceiling for a long time after Ron fell asleep. After a bit, he took the newly acquired Pensieve from his nightstand. He was about to plunge his face into the memories, but stopped when he realised that he had no idea how to get _out_ of a Pensieve. He dug among his birthday cards until he found Dumbledore's and rifled through it. Sure enough, there was a letter there with the Headmaster's curly handwriting on it.

He read the letter several times, less than anxious to become trapped in a bowl full of memories. He finally set it aside, going over the process in his mind. According to Professor Dumbledore's instructions, getting out of the Pensieve was a simple task, so long as he concentrated carefully. With this thought in mind, he set the basin on his bed. Taking a deep breath, he plunged his face into the misting surface…

The first thing he realised was that he was in a clean, white hospital room. He heard a muffled noise behind him, and, taking a deep breath to prepare himself, turned around.

A pretty woman with long red hair lay in a hospital bed, looking exhausted. A thin man with messy black hair sat next to her on the edge of the bed. They were both looking happily at the small, pink newborn in the woman's arms.

Harry felt a great pang of longing. "Mum and Dad…" he whispered.

A moment later, the door to the hospital room burst open and another dark-haired man came barrelling in, followed by a much more composed blonde.

"Lily," said the dark-haired man, "he's gorgeous."

"He'll make one hell of a Quidditch player someday," said James proudly.

"Not for at least thirty years, James," Lily interjected firmly, only half-teasing.

"You're killing me!" wailed James dramatically, putting the back of his hand to his forehead in a swoon.

"Is it alright if I hold him, Lily?" asked the blonde quietly.

"Of course, Remus." She handed the baby Harry over to him.

"Sirius," said James, "we've decided to name you Harry's godfather." Casting an apologetic look at Remus, he said, "Moony, you're sort of an honorary. You know how the Ministry is."

The werewolf didn't even appear to have heard at first; he was staring at the tiny Harry with fascination.

"Moony?"

He started a little. "Sorry. I heard you." He smiled softly. "That's wonderful."

Sirius was opening and closing his mouth repeatedly.

"Are you okay, Padfoot?"

He closed his mouth a final time, swallowed thickly, and said, "You—want…you want _me_ to be his godfather?"

James and Lily nodded simultaneously.

"But…why, Prongs? I'm the most irresponsible bloke in the world. I don't think I could handle a kid."

James grinned. "_Second_, Paddy. You're the _second_ most irresponsible bloke in the world. The first is even more scared than you are, and he's the father. Besides, that's only if something bad happens to us. Otherwise, you just get to be the cool uncle-figure who gives him tons of presents and…" here he dropped his voice quite a bit and winked slyly, "takes him on rides on his flying motorbike."

"Absolutely not," said Lily loudly from his other side.

"Where's Peter?" asked James as he looked around, seeming to notice the Animagus's absence for the first time.

Sirius shrugged. "Said he had stuff to do. Didn't quite catch it…you know how he mumbles sometimes."

"He's been awfully twitchy lately," commented James. "Think he's hiding a girlfriend from us?"

Harry's stomach clenched painfully, and suddenly he felt that he couldn't stay in the memory for another second. He began to concentrate on returning to the present, and after several moments in which he was surrounded by swirling mist, his feet returned to the ground.

He stood motionless next to his bed for several moments, staring wordlessly at the basin. The runes were swimming, and he very much doubted that it was because of the wavering memories that filled the bowl.

Ron gave a particularly loud snort, and Harry quickly set the basin back on the table, wiped his eyes, and climbed into bed. He'd seen enough for one night.

A/N: Well, I actually quite enjoyed writing this chapter. It definitely was a little less angsty, and while we all love a good Harry torture session (or is that just me?), I feel that I "can't keep writing about what a tragic little hero (he is), it'll get boring." (GoF pg. 390)…Anyway, I hope that bit with Ginny didn't come off as too forward, seeing as I really didn't intend for her to be and don't have any romance planned for dear Harry in the near future. I was debating on putting that part in, but just had too much fun writing it to leave it out.

I apologise for the lack of indentation, as I can't seem to make it upload properly from Microsoft Word.

Thanks for reading, now go review!


End file.
